Sigma One (25 page)

When he was finished, Amanda didn't know what to say. It sounded unbelievable, but the earnestness and sincerity that was in Burt's voice when he described how thought-programming could completely change the lives of thousands of handicapped people for the better by opening up creative outlets to them which today were permanently blocked made a believer out of her. It also gave her a clue as to how she would convince Burt to travel back to Washington with her, that by lying and promising him a full-time grant to continue his research at the NSF under their sponsorship.

When Burt joined her near the bed, taking his chair and turning it around so he could lean over it and look at her, Amanda spoke. "That's amazing, Mr. Grayson. I'm sure our founder, Mr. Huxley, would find your project fascinating and would be willing to help you achieve your goals. But              have to confirm that with him first. Perhaps we could further discuss this over dinner at my hotel? I'm sure that by this evening, I can have an answer if he is interested in pursuing this further with you."

She then got up and turned toward the door. "Say around seven o'clock?"

Burt stared at this beauty just inches from him. He wanted her. But he fought off his instincts long enough to retain his sensibility. He had, after all, just been offered a potential way to accelerate his research which would mean he could help Daniel and others like him that much sooner. Now would not be a good time to let his overactive libido take over and ruin this chance. Although he wanted her, he stopped himself from making any sexual advances toward her. Amanda, unaware of the internal battle that was waging within Burt repeated her question.

"Is seven o'clock at the Madonna in fine?"

He looked up and regained his composure. "Yeah, seven sounds fine. I'd be happy to meet you for dinner, and thanks for the interest in my project."

Amanda then got up and excused herself, being careful as she left not to step on any of the clothes that were scattered underfoot. She appeared calm to Burt as she got up, but inside she was a mixture of excitement, hardly being able to wait to share her experiences with Pat, and anticipation to learn more about what drove a person like Burt. The more she thought about what he had been able to accomplish, the more she held him in awe.

As she drove back to her hotel, she was smiling and felt better than she had since she had left Washington. Now that she had found Mr. Grayson, maybe Pat would change his mind about wanting to be with her. In the back of her mind, though, she continued to think about Burt and how attractive he was. The young man intrigued her.

Only moments after she left his room, Burt grimaced in pain and grabbed his head with both hands and then finished what he had started earlier; he flung the chair against the wall and it burst into a thousand pieces adding splinters and chunks of wood to the jumble of clothes and books strewn about the room. He then collapsed on the bed to rest, still holding his head.

Pat Huxley sat in his study at home staring out at the bare trees. He was exhausted from his hours of fruitless work at the NSF. Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth it. He felt so tired lately. As he glanced at the
calendar hanging on the wall, he became further despondent as he realized that in a little over five weeks, he'd have to tell the committee he'd failed. The only hope he had was that Amanda could locate Grayson, but then even if she did, he doubted there'd be enough time to get Grayson up-to speed on the Soviet computers he would have him reprogram even if she did get him to go along with their plan of coming back and going to work for the NSF. Prospects for the project's continuation didn't look good at all, and everything he had worked so hard for would soon be destroyed.

As he sank further down in his chair and as the hopelessness of the situation circled round and round in his mind, he began to think that the world and the fates were all stacked against him: that no matter which way he turned or what he tried to do to make things better, that his efforts were being wasted and his time would be better spent enjoying his life rather than worrying about the fate of future generations and simultaneously destroying his own chances for happiness as a result of his altruism.

Pat wasn't a religious man, but he looked up and began to pray for a solution; a way to both get what he wanted out of life and a way to get SIGMA ONE back on track. As he repeated his requests, his mind began to drift to thoughts of Amanda, and with that, to Alice and Sarah, which only added to his frustration. When these jumbled fragments of memory worked their way to his conscious mind, his train of thought was broken and his pious requests suddenly seemed foolish. He knew he didn't deserve to be helped by the Almighty. He had nearly committed adultery and he thought he knew enough about the way religion worked to suspect his requests would probably fall on deaf ears.

At that moment, just when he was thinking the only way out of his dilemma would be for him to end it all, the phone rang.

He let it ring for the longest time, and then it stopped. He didn't want any interruptions. He was on a downward spiral, drowning in his own self-pity, and he didn't have the strength it would take to move to answer it. He just sat there as the last ring dissolved into silence and then began to return to thoughts of his own self-destruction, toying with various methods of fulfilling his dark purpose. As he did, he discarded first one and then another method as his examination of them discovered their hidden faults, particularly in the execution phase. Poison would be too painful, he feared, as would slitting his wrists; which, aside from the pain, would be horribly messy. A gunshot to the head would produce the proper results he desired with probably very little actual pain; but, it would also create a horrible scene for whoever found him. Also, if, by chance, his aim was only slightly off, he could end up a vegetable, a thought which he feared more than death itself.

While he was thinking these macabre thoughts, flitting from one grisly method of demise to the next, he found himself actually moving slowly out of his black mood and, instead of getting further and further mired in the miasma his mind had created, he found his heart feeling lighter as he intellectually picked each method apart. It frightened him slightly that he was actually able to visualize his own death, but it was in that visualization, while he coolly and analytically, but disconnectedly pulled out of his physical being and stared down at himself, that he saw the utter foolishness of his present behavior. Seeing himself enabled him to snap out of his self-destructive spiral. It was during this time, too, that the phone rang again and, rather than letting it ring itself out, as he had before, he picked it up and answered.

Amanda was relieved she had finally been able to reach him. When she didn't get an answer the first time she tried, she began to get concerned.

She had to meet with Mr. Grayson for dinner and she had hoped she would have an answer for him by then from Pat and that she could tell him he had been invited back to Washington. She was also concerned that if she didn't reach Pat now, that because of the three hour time difference, she would have to call him back in the morning and she didn't want to wait that long to hear his voice. So when he said hello, she let out an unconscious sigh of relief before speaking. Pat heard her sigh, but when she didn't immediately speak, he became impatient.

"Who's there?" He asked sharply.

"Pat, it's Amanda!"

"Oh," he said apologetically. "Did you find Mr. Grayson?"

"Yes, and you won't believe what he can do. It's incredible. I

really
think he can do it. I think he can thought-program."

Pat stiffened in his chair and his depression vanished immediately as her words resounded in his ears. This was the break he had been waiting for and he had to know more.

"How can you be so certain, Amanda," he asked.

"I saw it with my own eyes. First, he turned on the computer and then he began to--------”

"Hold on," Pat interrupted. He didn't want Amanda to describe everything on the open phone. "Not too much detail," he cautioned and then added, "remember security."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," she replied unsure now what to say.

Pat took up the conversation again. He would obviously have to lead her by the hand to get what he wanted to know without breaching security.

"Okay, Amanda. Just listen and answer yes or no to my questions. All right?"

"Uh, uh."

"So you met Mr. Grayson?"

"Yes."

"And he seems to have the ability to help us?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"How do you know? Did he show you evidence?"

"Yes."

Pat stopped momentarily. He knew he couldn't ask Amanda to describe what she had seen without potentially risking her saying too much. He cautiously began again, skillfully phrasing his questions to steer around this touchy subject. In his business, security was everything.

"Was the evidence convincing to you?" He realized that the only thing he could do under the circumstances was to rely on her judgment.

"I'm thoroughly convinced he can help us. It didn't appear to be a trick. There's no way Burt could have taken a picture of me without my knowing, digitized it, and then flashed it up on the screen. He didn't have the time!"

"Very well then, I'd like to see this Mr. Grayson. Do you think he would come here for----ur----an interview?"

"I can try to get him to come with me, but I'm not sure he will. When I spoke with him earlier today, I told him that maybe we could help him with his research, but that I'd have to clear it with you first. I have to meet him for dinner later, and I can ask him then."

Pat was puzzled. "What do you mean, 'help him with his research?' What about our research? You didn't mention anything about the project to him did you?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. So what's this about our helping him. I don't understand."

Amanda then explained that the driving force behind Burt's work was his brother Daniel and that because of the fond way Burt had described his relationship with him,that she thought it would provide the perfect motivator to get him to come east. It took a while, but she finally convinced Pat that the only way she could be sure Burt would come would be for Pat to give the okay to her to promise Burt that the NSF would build a lab for him. She had surmised that by so doing, Burt could continue and perhaps even accelerate his work, and although he hadn't said so, she figured that's what he really wanted. If the NSF could provide such incentive, she knew there would be no way he could decline. Amanda then added that it would also be necessary for the foundation to pick up all of his living expenses while Burt worked there.

Pat thought about what she said and her plan seemed reasonable, except for one thing: how could they be sure Burt would help them with SIGMA ONE? He decided to ask her.

"Let's suppose I give the okay, Amanda. Let's say you tell Mr. Grayson we'll set up a lab for him so that he can continue his research and that we'll pay his expenses while he is with us. What's in it for us? How can we be sure he'll repay the favor and work for our project?"

Amanda had had all afternoon to solidify her plan and, without hesitation, guardedly revealed it, taking care not to be too specific.

"It's easy, Pat."

"How so?"

"First, you have to set up a lab in our facility--a lab only he has access to, or thinks he does anyway. In that way we can guarantee him his privacy and that he can work undisturbed. I think he'll like that."

"Okay, then what?"

"Second, when you set the lab up, you can install a hidden camera and microphone so that we can record his progress without him knowing. In that way, our other scientists can evaluate his talent. If it appears that he is unable to provide the help we need, we can send him home and no one will be the wiser. If it looks like he's capable of ...uh---helping us---we can give him some sample problems to work. We'll tell him that these problems were specifically chosen by our own staff whose research has been paralleling his, as a means of calibrating how gifted he is. Of course, he won't know what the sample problems are. To him, he will just be programming a piece of equipment whose purpose we won't reveal. In all actuality, he will be programming the---uh---(How do I say this, she asked herself) flight computer."